Just another Day

This is a commission I've made to the awesomely talented Tygurstar (tygurstar.deviantart.com/). This is the result and I love it. Super awesome! My character Hrabrov, "enjoying" a quiet minute or two in yet just another day at war.
MINISTORY

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“War changes you. Like a female, she makes a man from a boy. Like a knife, she cuts off everything that’s unnecessary, and leaves only the base of your being. The closer you are to war…the closer you are to death… the closer you are to seeing your true self… the purer you become.”

These words sounded like the usual kind of shit Daddy dearest would mumble when he had one too many “Stolichaya’s”.  What he said felt grotesquely different when ten-something years later, Viktor found himself that much closer to his own possible end point.  You can’t teach youngsters shit until you’ve got them dodging bullets and plasma.

Now the words seemed so true Vik could scrape them out on a brick wall with his bare fingers and make them Holy Scriptures.  By now, he had seen this so often it almost made him sick. Courageous cocky heroes turning into shaking paranoid cowards… Enlightened pacifists turning into bloodhungry maniacs… Loyal fanatics turning into cheap traitors… There was nothing new. He had seen it all. Stress, fear, hunger, cold, guilt, sickness, despair, fatigue, pain, doubt. The cocktail never got boring. It squeezed and choked you till you threw up your real self. Your id. And, as he sat with his back to the pleasant cold of some concrete wall, someone deep inside him wondered… why was he, Viktor Hrabrov, son to a dynasty of warriors and soldiers… the epitome of abyssal void. When War came to change him, and he had finally faced the blackness staring at him, he could only reflect darkness in return. When it carved away the unnecessary, nothing was left behind, everything was shed… Leaving the cold emptiness to walk the battlefield undisturbed by the perils and terrors of the seemingly catastrophic events. Emptiness with a face and a dogtag, but void non the less. Soldiers died. Soldiers suffered. Soldiers marched on. Yet he didn’t care. All sense of purpose was gone. His body moved on habit, like a vehicle rolling on sheer momentum. “Is this what I am?” Viktor thought. “Am I really empty?” There was nothing disturbing in the thought. People back on the big land ripped their skin to prove how they were filled with something, full of something, special snowflakes with so much soul it overflowed. You didn’t need that shit here. It didn’t help you fight. Emotions were a thing of the past. They clouded judgment and prevented survival.  A calm mind is always better. So calm it stops to cling to its own existence, muting the self-preservation instinct, instead acting with the carelessness of a spectator. You can play Russian roulette all day long. You can storm a fortified barricade or hang a pack of c-4 on yourself just to get the job done. Easy. No hesitation.

 He felt so far away. Like this was simply a dream, and not really happening. Denial? Did he disconnect himself from his own life to escape the pressure of everyday War?

No.

If anything, he had become an effective soldier. Perfected to the point his civilized being ceased to exist, leaving the killer instinct take the reins and rule undisputed…

“All units report in and regroup at designated positions.”

His predatory mind refined itself and threw away anything that didn’t have a practical purpose. Wolves are predators. Predators are efficient. Predators take lives…and that’s what he was all about. War reflected in him. War walked by his side and whispered in his ear.  Now he was complete. Now he was free. Now… He was war.